Stadium Is No Fit Place for a Field Day, Music Fans Say

By MICHAEL BRICK

Published: June 8, 2003

EAST RUTHERFORD, N.J., June 7—
It is an 81-mile drive from Calverton, on Long Island, to East Rutherford; 70 miles as the crow flies. Manhattan traffic lengthens the trip between these dissimilar points, one marked by acres of open farmland and the other by highway interchanges and sports complexes.

None of this was lost on the thousands of music fans who had planned to converge upon the fields of the North Fork of Long Island today, bringing camping gear and blankets and sunscreen, for a two-day extravaganza called Field Day. Instead, they found themselves lining up at the gates of Giants Stadium for a waterlogged concert called Field Day.

The only field here was made of something called Fieldturf, a substance the New Jersey Sports and Exposition Authority, which manages the stadium, replaced the grass with a few months back. At any rate, the Fieldturf was covered. As for the sunscreen, anyone carrying that was guilty of delusional optimism regardless of the location.

The concert had been advertised for months and tickets had been sold through the Web site of one of the headlining acts, Radiohead, but the whole thing fell apart in last-minute negotiations over permits from Suffolk County. The promoters shifted the event to Giants Stadium and canceled numerous acts, including the oh-so-sincere Dashboard Confessional and the surname-deprived post-post-post-punk scenesters Interpol.

''It's more convenient here at Giants Stadium, but it's lost its cachet,'' said Casey Dooley, 25, a copywriter from Philadelphia, whose hair and attire were as black as a raven. ''There's something to be said for being out in the middle of nowhere on Long Island. It ends up just being people who want to go through the drama.''

The convenience of New Jersey left only the rain, the last-minute confusion and disorganization, the steep concession prices and the rules to weed out the less-determined music fans.

Still, they kept streaming in, paying $15 to park, surrendering their umbrellas to security guards, submitting to a frisking to make sure they were not carrying weapons or liquor, and paying $5 for a plastic poncho. (The recording industry, it should be noted here, says that online music piracy is to blame for the sorry shape of the modern music business.)

They kept to the dry spots, under the awnings where merchandise was sold and in Rows 29 through 41, the seats covered by the upper balcony. They sat and smoked and talked on the spiral concrete walkways, where behind them a rivulet flowed along the inner curve from the cheap seats down to the parking lot.

They all said it was the music that had drawn them.

Adam Cohen, 19, a student from Long Island, said he wanted to hear Radiohead ''really bad.''

''Riverhead is a lot closer to me than New Jersey,'' he said. Having overcome the obstacle of distance, he said, the other problems were immaterial. ''It's raining either way.''

Though they came, many of the music fans were not glad they did.

''Disappointed doesn't even begin to describe what we were,'' said Kathryn Diehl, 23, of Brooklyn, whose hair was soaking wet. She had reserved a hotel room near Calverton. ''Can you print, 'I really, really hate Long Island, and this is just one more reason'?''

Andrea Meola, 24, of Lawrenceville, N.J., had already requested the weekend off from work. ''At least it still happened,'' she said.

But because it did, a fund-raiser originally scheduled to be held at the stadium today did not. The exposition authority canceled the benefit, for Cerebral Palsy of North Jersey, a charity, to make way for Field Day, The Associated Press reported.

Around the tunnels of the stadium, music fans sat huddled in groups, preserving and sharing body heat in June. A clear, sunny day was depicted on the banners saying ''Field Day Music Festival'' that hung above the outdoor stage.

The shift to New Jersey was working out nicely for Mike Scott, 24, of the Bronx, a concessionaire who was selling drinks and cookies. He expected to make $50 to $100, in part, he believed, because beer was not being sold.

''They're selling no beer,'' he said. ''I sell sodas; they have no choice.''

One sign of just how disorganized the event had become was the fact that though no one had told Mr. Scott, beer was available for purchase at another concession just a few hundred feet from his stand, for $6.25 a cup.

Out in the parking lot, Chris Connucciari, 24, a gaffer from Brooklyn, was keeping dry with friends old and new. It was a tailgate party in the pouring rain, under the shelter of a hatchback, where everyone was killing time until the Beastie Boys were scheduled to play.

''We have a lot of beer and we have sandwiches,'' Mr. Connucciari said. ''We met these guys next door to us. We'll put up a tarp. Once you get as wet as you can possibly get, it can't get worse.''